Indignation

Is it imperative that the people we love end up disappointing us? Or do we set ourselves up for disappointment by loving the wrong people?

I’ve felt a lot of negative emotions with respect to my relationships – sadness, hatred, impulsive anger, guilt – but today, in the aftermath of a conversation with a friend, I suddenly felt indignant. It has been building up for some time now, I suppose, and today perhaps happened to be the day when it peaked and took up a visible amount of space and form. People haven’t been treating me well. I deserve better.

Even as this thought arises, I start playing devil’s advocate and assess everything that I get wrong in relationships. But it doesn’t go the usual route. Instead of contemplating all the ways in which I am unworthy, I feel more convinced than ever of the validity of my expectations. I’m certainly not perfect, but I am still wonderful and interesting. What I want is to be treated with respect, and affection; to be valued; for my needs to be considered valid. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.

I keep coming across words that help me paint a clearer picture of perhaps everything I’ve experienced over the years and never could articulate. Gaslighting. Ghosting. Love bombing. Invalidation. I use them to fill the gaps in my narratives and construct a more coherent story for myself. I recognise patterns of behaviour that have played out recurrently over years and wonder aloud how I could have ever really missed those cues. I suppose it’s like when Wanda tells Bojack – When you’re wearing rose tinted glasses, all the red flags just look like flags.

Living with deep-seated insecurity and complexes, it feels different to be this brazen about this. On the one hand, I feel like I must be missing something, that maybe all this is just in my bed. On the other hand, I feel like I’ve never had so much clarity before. Every time I reiterate this to a friend, I can feel my case getting stronger. I’ve not been asking for much. All I want is to be cherished and cared for consistently, and I’ve failed to find someone capable of doing it. No. People have failed me in stepping up and fulfilling that role.

I don’t know what the future holds. I might still be a blithering mess every night. I might still cradle and nurture grief. I might still give in to impulses and accept the bare pickings that come my way. But I hope that I get to hold on to this indignation for as long as I can, just so I can be sure to remind myself of what I truly deserve.